Not so Full of Festive Cheer
by Evie1989
Summary: Sam thinks about her mum at Christmas time. (I know, writing about Christmas in August! Shocking)


**Hey guys, this one's a bit festive which is odd seeing as it's August but I couldn't help what crazy ideas popped into my head, and when I saw festive that doesn't mean it's happy. It's sort of bittersweet! I've taken a bit of artistic licence with this, we don't know much about Sam's family so I've just written it as I've imagined. Please comment if you have the time :)**

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Sam could barely hear the music playing as she made her way to the toilets furthest away from the party. _This always happens, every year, _she thought to herself. Pushing open the door and glad to be away from the all the decorations that kept reminding her it was Christmas, she went to the stall at the far end and locked it. She sank to the floor and contemplated her state of mind.

Earlier on in the evening things had gone well, there had been a good turnout for the ED Christmas party and everyone had had a chance to let their hair down and have some fun. The alcohol though, was free flowing and after more than a couple of drinks, Sam had entered what she called her 'drunken philosophical state'.

Christmas; the hardest holiday of all for her. The holiday she hadn't really enjoyed since she was nine years old. It came around; the same time every year. And the inevitable happened, every year. _Christmas is supposed to be a happy time, _she thought somewhat bitterly. Her Christmases hadn't really been happy for 18 years, not since her mum had died.

She leaned her head back against the cool wall. It had affected Sam so much because no one ever wanted to talk about it at the time. Her father had always skirted around the issue, trying to deal with his own grief, and now he was gone too.

Her sister had been too young at the time to remember anything; and as they hadn't even talked since their father's funeral it wasn't fair to try and bring it up with her, because that would achieve nothing.

Memories, they were a curse and a blessing at the same time. It was hard to be the only one with the memories and have no one to share them with but she knew she was lucky to have them. It was hard to be the only one who could remember her mother's face without looking at a photograph but she was grateful that she could.

The hardest thing of all though, was the guilt she carried. The guilt of not saying goodbye to her mother when she had the chance.

Sam rested her chin on her hand and sighed, and even in her slightly drunken state, wished she hadn't let herself get like this. Not here. In defeat though, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to be taken back to that awful day.

_White. The sterile floors, the nurse's starchy uniforms, even her mother with her sunken eyes and hairless head; everything was white. She had refused to go in at first, holding onto the chair with a strength that belied a nine year old. Her father, too exhausted to fight, had simply left her, telling her to come in when she wanted._

_The nurse had come by and told her she really should go in now, in an urgent voice that had forced her feet to move before her brain had caught up. The bright red tinsel that had hung above her mother's bed had looked garish against its pale backdrop and the small gift wrapped in green paper had stood out on the table by the bed, with Sam's name on the tag in her mother's carefully printed script._

_She had noticed her father weeping softly into a handkerchief, but it had become a normal part of his behaviour by then so she had ignored it. She had tentatively reached out and brushed her mother's hand. It had still been warm, and with a child's logic Sam had assumed they had got it wrong._

_Sam had shaken and called her mother several times before the truth dawned on her, that she had been too late. She had backed away confused and scared, and hid in a supply cupboard until one of the security guards had found her._

_By that time, her mother's body had been taken away, and her father had simply taken her by the hand and led her to the car; the last memory of her mother burned into her mind; a lifeless, unresponsive body, and an unopened gift beside her._

She shook as the events played in her head, they were always so vivid. She remembered that the gift from her mother was lying neatly on her bed the next morning and she had left it and gone downstairs. 2 year old Hannah had been excitedly opening presents as her father looked on, grey from grief and exhaustion. The gift from her mother remained unopened that year; and it had remained unopened every year since.

She thought of the gift now, sitting in the wooden box under her bed still wrapped and untouched for almost 18 years. Then everything seemed to hit her at once, the grief, the guilt and the pain. And then came the tears. Harsh, ragged sobs that she couldn't stop despite the fact that there was a party downstairs and anyone could have come in and found her.

She knew that she couldn't stop them, she was too far gone; she needed to let it out. With each sob and every tear she felt lighter; she knew it was only temporary, but at least everything would go back to being bearable again.

After 20 minutes she was sure people would be wondering where she was and that they were bound to come and look for her. She took a deep breath and left the stall, checking that no one was there and after deciding it was safe to come out, she forced herself to look in the mirror.

Red eyes, puffy cheeks, smudged mascara. She sighed. It was obvious that she had been crying. She splashed her face with cold water and spent 10 minutes fixing her make up before she felt ready to face the world.

Making her way down the stairs, she took another deep breath, plastered a smile on her face and hoped the dimmed lights were enough to hide her red eyes. Not much later, she made her excuses and left early, too tired to be able to pretend to enjoy the party anymore.

Now, as she sat on the floor staring at the wooden box she had just opened, she thought about finally opening the gift.

What would happen if she did? Maybe what she was carrying around would go, maybe she could finally make her peace and say goodbye.

And if she didn't open it? It would go back in the box for another year, passively reminding her of her mother.

Sam looked up as a thought suddenly struck her. If the gift stayed unopened, she had to remember her mother at least once a year. She _knew _she had all the memories in her mind, but if she finally let go, after all this time, would she start to forget?

She realized that all along, she had been terrified of forgetting her mother; this fear had been fueled by her father's refusal to talk about her, by her sister's inability to remember. _She _had to be the one to remember.

This gift, it was the one thing Sam had left, and she could not give it up, she couldn't say goodbye. Not now.

"Sorry mum," Sam whispered, closing the box and sliding it back under her bed, putting it back in its place for another year.

"I love you."

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**Thank you for reading :) Evie xx**


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